Driving With One Hand On The Wheel
by Amy Blue
Summary: ''Driving with one hand on the wheel, not knowing how or what to feel; you only knew that it was enough to be feeling something.'' Mildly slashy, and totally pointless.


Author's Note: I don't own anyone. 

The radio began to blare the best hits of the 80s, 90s, and today as soon as Eric turned the key in the ignition. He quickly adjusted the volume before strapping his seat belt. He chuckled without mirth. "It really doesn't matter how many times I ask her to turn the radio down after she brings the car home, does it?" He pulled out of the driveway, offering: "You can put it on whatever you want."  
  
"Okay," Robbie replied, clearly not entirely at ease, for a reason Eric could not quite discern.   
  
He didn't even know why Robbie had volunteered to come along. Maybe he had simply needed a break from the house and the children and the noise and the pressure... not that Eric could relate to any of that, of course. He certainly hadn't felt relieved when this little errand had arisen, no, not even a little, not at all.   
  
If he was honest with himself (which, admittedly, was a somewhat rare occurrence), Eric wasn't feeling quite right at the moment, either. Perhaps it was the onset of winter; sometimes the quick transition from oppressive summer heat to bitter winter cold could suck the life right out of a person.   
  
Robbie pressed the seek button and landed on a classic rock station right in the middle of "Should I Stay Or Should I Go?" by The Clash.  
  
He shook his head. "I'm really beginning to feel old now that 80s songs are considered 'classic rock.'"  
  
"You? Imagine how I feel."  
  
"I mean, it's a good song. But The Clash aren't classic rock. That's stuff like The Eagles and, I don't know, The Rolling Stones, The Pretenders, like that."  
  
"I don't know," Eric mused. "I miss the days when they used to play Rick Nelson more on the radio. Now the oldies stations play all of three songs, two of which are by Aretha Franklin, and the classic rock stations play songs from the 70s and the 80s. Rick and I just got left out in the cold, I guess."  
  
"I guess that's what CD players are for," Robbie pointed out.  
  
"At least Elvis is popular again."  
  
Robbie couldn't stifle a laugh.  
  
"What?"  
  
"I don't know. I just don't get it."  
  
Eric shifted in his seat and glanced over at Robbie. "Don't get what?"  
  
"I mean, he was all controversial and everything, with the hips and the--you know, all that."  
  
"Yeah, well, that was his thing."  
  
"Shouldn't you be all, 'Dancing is a sin,' like that guy in Footloose? It's just weird that a reverend would be so into Elvis. I mean, it's just that, like, he was all about sex, basically, and you're..."   
  
"Not?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Well, 'dancing is a sin' is one way of looking at God's word. I guess I just interpret it more liberally than that."  
  
"Apparently."  
  
Pause. The Clash faded clumsily into the original version of "Layla."   
  
"Now that's a good classic-rock kind of song," said Robbie.  
  
"So, wait, you're saying you like this stuff?"  
  
"Absolutely."  
  
"Shouldn't you be all, 'yo, I like rap' or something?" Eric teased.  
  
"Thanks."  
  
"Seriously, I just wouldn't expect that."  
  
"I guess we're both rebels."  
  
"Oh yeah, I'm a rebel," snorted Eric.  
  
"I love this song. The instrumental part. 'There's always something left unsaid.'"  
  
"What?"  
  
"I don't know, I guess at one point I just, like, made up my own words for that part. That's all I hear now whenever the song comes on."  
  
"That's pretty good. It actually fits."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
They pulled up in front of Glenoak Community College. Lucy had been tutoring a friend, who had driven away thirty minutes ago, under the assumption that Lucy's car would start properly. Unfortunately, it had not done so, probably also due to the weather. Eric turned off the engine, but left the radio on.   
  
"See her?"  
  
"Not yet."  
  
As "Layla" ended and the next song began, Robbie stopped looking out the window for Lucy and stared straight ahead as if he were deep in thought.  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"That's what I'm trying to figure out. There are certain old songs where I know I *know* it but I just can't remember what it is until, like, the chorus starts up. It's really frustrating."  
  
"Oh. This one is Heart. 'Crazy on You.'"  
  
Robbie frowned. "I hate that one."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"But the beginning always catches me. Then I'm like, 'Aaaah, I can't believe it sucked me in again.'"  
  
Eric laughed. Robbie did, too, but stopped abruptly.  
  
"What?"  
  
Robbie averted his gaze and ran his tongue over his top teeth before answering. "Oh. Nothing. Just trying to figure out if Mrs. Camden likes Elvis, too."  
  
"No, she's not much of a fan. When he was alive, she was much more interested in girl singers. Like Buffy Sainte-Marie and Dusty Springfield."  
  
"Yeah, I could see her being into 'Wishin' and Hopin'.'"  
  
Eric raised an eyebrow. "You're full of surprises."  
  
Robbie smiled, but maintained eye contact this time. The message was clear: you have no idea.  
  
Eric cleared his throat. "I guess she's more of the 'dancing is a sin' school of Bible interpretation."  
  
"I'll say." Robbie paused. "No offense."  
  
"She wasn't always like that, but it's pretty safe to say that since the kids started needing, uh, 'moral guidance,' we've rarely seen eye-to-eye on that sort of thing." Eric stopped himself. Why did he feel the need to explain anything?  
  
Robbie glanced away, out the window. "There's Lucy. I'll get in the back." He unstrapped his seat belt.   
  
Eric reached over awkwardly, discreetly, his hand landing somewhere near Robbie's knee. "It's all right." He meant: don't. Stay.  
  
Robbie bit the inside of his lip and felt his stomach sink when Eric withdrew his hand. "Okay."  
  
Lucy approached the car and looked askance at Robbie, who didn't make any attempt to vacate the passenger seat. She shrugged and slid into the backseat instead. "Oh my gosh, you guys have no idea, it is so cold out there and so warm in here. Have you been waiting long? I really should have made Meredith wait until I started my car."  
  
Eric pulled away from the curb. Robbie turned the radio volume back up.  
  
"I don't know why I bothered to come here anyway. Turned out all she wanted to do was talk about her stupid boyfriend. I was just like, 'Hello? Couldn't we have done that, like, on the phone? Why did I have to come here if you didn't actually want to, you know, study?' But I think we got a lot of stuff done despite that."  
  
"That's good," Eric said absently.  
  
The commercials ended and a new song started with no introduction from the DJ. Robbie got that look again, staring intently at nothing.  
  
"What did you cover?" he asked Lucy.  
  
"U.S. History. Can you believe she didn't even know who Dwight Eisenhower was? Much less how to spell Eisenhower, so we spent like twenty minutes on that alone, not to mention, like, five hours on democracy, I swear, it's like..."   
  
"'Radar Love,'" Eric whispered below Lucy's chatter.  
  
Robbie grinned at him as Lucy continued to prattle on.  
  
"I love that song," he confessed softly.  
  
"Me too," Eric said.  
  
"Are you even listening?" Lucy asked, without waiting for an answer. "Do we have to listen to this? I have a Creed CD in my backpack, why don't we listen to that?"  
  
"Sorry," Robbie told her. "Two against one. Democracy."  
  
"A concept with which you're familiar," Eric pointed out, "having just spent, like, the last five hours on the subject."  
  
He could hear Lucy rolling her eyes in the backseat.  
  
He glanced at Robbie, who was also looking covertly in his direction. They smiled: a shared gesture, a shared interest, a shared secret.  
  
Lucy fell silent as the song climaxed, but Robbie was still hearing Derek and the Dominoes in his head.   
  
_There's always something left unsaid..._


End file.
